Prelude

Mayor Gloucester stood rigid beneath the shadow of the town founder’s statue, his gloved hands clenched behind his back as though he were holding the city itself in place by force of will.

“I tell you, Foucester,” he said, his voice tight with contained fury, “I will have those vermin out of there.”

The Town Clerk shifted uneasily beside him. Foucester was not a man who enjoyed confrontation; he preferred paper, ink, and decisions made in quiet rooms. “It will not be easy,” he replied carefully. “They’ve been there so long people scarcely remember a time without them. And some”—he hesitated—”some actually encourage them.”